


It Would Be Cruel

by a_hand_outstretched



Category: Succession (TV 2018)
Genre: Awkward Sexual Situations, Dehydration, First Time Blow Jobs, In that they are not sober but ARE extremely enthusiastic, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Oral Fixation, Recreational Drug Use, Stewy Hosseini: Proud morosexual, Teen Angst, sufjan stevens’ futile devices plays in background
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-11
Updated: 2020-06-15
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:08:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24653611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_hand_outstretched/pseuds/a_hand_outstretched
Summary: Ken and Stewy. On a boat.
Relationships: Stewy Hosseini/Kendall Roy
Comments: 16
Kudos: 83





	1. Chapter 1

Stewy’s sitting with his back against the railing of the boat, face turned directly toward the sun. He’s soaking up the heat, relishing the way it makes everything feel slow, almost like he’s drunk, like his body’s too busy photosynthesizing or something to spare energy for his brain. He hated the sailing lessons his parents forced him into for years — it’s still not really his scene, to be honest — but he’s got to admit there are advantages to being out on the water. More sun. Fewer people. 

He opens his eyes and blinks. The glare off the water is bright even with sunglasses on. His beer is mostly empty and no longer cold. He looks over at Kendall, who’s lying on his stomach near the front of the boat, fiddling with the portable stereo. He lets his gaze wander over Kendall’s body, dwelling on the dip in his lower back and the way his swim shorts pull tight across his scrawny ass. 

Stewy shifts, trying to decide if he should shake himself out of this particular train of thought. It hasn’t been worth the potential consequences, before now. Maybe it’s still not. But they’re only a few weeks out from freshman year; it’s not hard to picture their friendship dying a natural death in college, no matter what he does or doesn’t do today. Anyway, they’re adults now, they can be reasonable about this shit, right? He’s just fucking curious, that’s all. 

“Hey, Kenny.” 

“What?” 

“Get me a beer?” 

“What, am I your fucking lackey? Get it yourself.” 

“It’s my boat, shithead, go get me a beer.” 

“Isn’t it technically your mom’s?” 

“So you’re really going to disrespect both me and my mother with your laziness?” 

The boat pitches to the side slightly and Kendall rolls with it, getting to his feet. He always gives in, the fucking wimp. He comes back with two cans, tosses one to Stewy. It hits his thigh, wet with condensation. Kendall sits down next to him and pulls the tab on his beer. Stewy watches his throat as he swallows. 

“Thank you.” 

“Just don’t shit talk me to your mom, man,” Kendall says. 

Stewy laughs. He picks up the beer and runs his thumb around the top. Condensation beads on the tip of his finger. He feels a little lightheaded. 

“Did we bring any water?”

Kendall makes a noncommittal noise which Stewy assumes means he didn’t bother to check. He sets the beer back down and tips his sunglasses up to rest on top of his head so he can rub at his eyes. 

Kendall leans back, settling in. His nose is peeling from last week’s sunburn and he’s clearly on his way to another. “Hey, don’t,” Stewy says, “You’re fucking roasted, man. Go in the shade for a while. There’s sunscreen under the chair.” 

Kendall shrugs. Stewy reaches over to press a finger into his pink cheek. 

“Ow,” Kendall says, flatly. 

You’re not built for this, Stewy wants to say. He’s said that to Kendall before, more than once. He’s not sure what Kendall _is_ built for, really, is the thing. He shifts his hand to cup his jaw. Kendall stares back at him now, eyes wide. 

“Uh, Stewy…” Kendall half-laughs, tries to duck his head down, awkward and braced for a punchline. 

Stewy puts him out of his misery. Kendall tenses when he kisses him and he brings a hand up flat against Stewy’s chest as though he might push him away, but after a few seconds he curls his fingers into Stewy’s shirt and parts his lips. Stewy licks into his mouth, deepens the kiss until they’re forced to break for air. 

He lightly bites at Kendall’s lower lip. “I knew it, you fucking homo,” he says. 

“Fuck — you —” Kendall gasps out in the brief moments his mouth isn’t otherwise occupied. 

“Yeah, you’d like that, huh?” Stewy laughs and moves to tuck a couple of fingers underneath Kendall’s waistband. He turns his attention to Kendall’s neck at the same time, sucking at his pulse point, the skin there salty from sweat and seawater. Kendall practically jumps into his lap, eager hands all over the place and accomplishing nothing much at all, except making the railing dig into Stewy’s back. He tries to slide a hand into Stewy’s hair but moves too fast and ends up knocking Stewy’s sunglasses off his head. They clank against the side of the boat and land with a small splash. 

“Shit.” 

“You fucking idiot,” Stewy says, equal parts affectionate and annoyed. “Here.” He gets up on his knees to tug his shirt over his head and then pushes Kendall flat against the deck, hovering over him for a moment before bending down to lick the line of his collar bone. 

Kendall fucking _whimpers_ at that. “Fuck, Stew. I want — Fuck — I’ll do — Anything, whatever you want, tell me.” 

Stewy shifts his weight to one arm and straightens up so he can push his hair back out of his eyes. Alarm bells are going off in his head. He should have known, he _did_ know, he just let his sun-fried brain make the wrong call. Kendall’s looking at Stewy like he really would let him do anything. Like anything he does now _means_ something. And Stewy can’t have that. 

Kendall registers the change in his face and instantly shrinks away, sitting up and bringing his knees to his chest. His face is somehow even pinker than it was before. 

“What’s wrong?” he asks. 

“Kenny...” Stewy says, running a hand down Kendall’s arm, trying to be nice about this. “We don’t need to make this, like, a thing, okay?” 

“Oh,” Kendall nods his head too many times and averts his eyes, like suddenly the distant rocky shoreline is the world’s most interesting view. “Uh, yeah, right. It’s whatever. I didn’t think — um, I mean I didn’t… think it was anything.” 

It fucking hurts to watch. Stewy would almost have preferred it if Kendall had told him to fuck off in the first place, thrown a couple of choice slurs in his direction and never spoken to him again. Instead he was the cruel one, on accident, because of course Kendall’s not built for this sort of thing either, for feelings sorted into tidy boxes, metered out in precise increments. Stewy doesn’t really have a choice but to try and soften the blow. 

He slaps Kendall lightly on the shoulder. “Hey, we good? I’m not going anywhere.” 

Kendall’s face does something complicated, like he thinks Stewy’s fucking with him but can’t quite decide how. 

“Hmm? You still want this, right?” Stewy reaches for him and puts a hand on his thigh. 

“Yeah — Yeah. I — We’re good.” Kendall relaxes somewhat, drops the protective posture. He sucks in a breath of air as Stewy comes close enough to wrap his other arm around Kendall’s torso, splaying his fingers across his chest. His other hand moves up Kendall’s thigh, first tracing the outline of his erection, then tugging his shorts down. 

Kendall jerks forward slightly at his touch. 

“Mmhmm, we are. I’ve got you.” 

Stewy leans his head against Kendall’s shoulder as he jerks him off. It’s a weird angle, given their parallel sitting positions and Stewy’s arms being finite in length, and with each stroke Kendall seems to collapse a little more on top of him. The fucking railing is jabbing into his back again. Stewy moves his hand faster. 

“Fuck,” Kendall chokes out. 

Stewy murmurs some nonsense words of encouragement against his skin until Kendall comes with a shudder against him. He waits in silence until Kendall’s breathing evens out a little, then starts to pull away. 

“Thanks,” Kendall says. 

Stewy pulls a face. _“Thanks?”_

He’s about to wipe his sticky hand on Kendall’s arm in retaliation for being such a fucking dork, but before he can, Kendall turns and wraps a hand around the back of his neck and kisses him hard. 

“Can I...?” 

“Nah,” Stewy says, feeling a little lightheaded again. Without thinking he adds, “Maybe later.”

Kendall’s mouth quirks up on one side. His hand is heavy on the back of Stewy's neck. “Yeah, okay. Later.” 


	2. Later

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Turns out I wanted to write about Stewy's "later" and, well, it got out of hand.

It’s been a couple of weeks since the boat. They haven’t talked about it, which is ideal. Stewy’s not even thinking about it, actually. Like, whatever, it happened, it’s done. Over. Some girl — Gina? Gemma? Jenna? — just wrote her number on the back of his hand in sparkly purple pen, so, he’s doing fine, generally. 

Except that Kendall’s a little bit on his mind at this very moment because Stewy’s sort of lost him. Misplaced him. They’re in some warehouse-turned-apartment building-turned-collective living space-turned-music show and he keeps opening door after door trying to get to the room he started in, which was the last place he saw Kendall, maybe… three hours ago? 

He’s getting a fucking migraine and starting to wonder if he should just leave without him — surely, if he's kidnapped or whatever, Logan Roy can afford the ransom? — when he hears a crash come from the next room. He opens one more door and there’s Kendall, looking down at a pile of glass or ceramic or something else delicate at his feet and being yelled at by some asshole in a polo shirt. 

Stewy doesn’t even bother trying to figure out what’s going on. He grabs Kendall by the arm. 

“Hey — shut the fuck up — we’re leaving,” he shouts at polo shirt, barely loud enough to be heard over the music. “Where’s the exit?” 

Polo shirt jerks a thumb toward another God damn fucking door and Stewy pulls Kendall away. 

“Hey Stewy!” Kendall says, entirely unfazed by whatever just happened. 

...

Outside of the air conditioning it’s a hot, humid August night. The music coming from the party is still loud enough that Stewy can feel it in his chest. They stand on the sidewalk to wait for the car and Kendall leans against him, laughing at nothing. Stewy pats his head, absently. He can’t even guess the combination of substances Kendall has running the show right now. 

He looks down at the numbers on his hand, glittering a little under the streetlight. The car pulls up and they get in. After a moment of deliberation, Stewy tells the driver to go to Kendall’s house — he definitely didn’t tell his own parents he’d be out this late and, well, why deal with today what you can put off until tomorrow? 

He gets exactly thirty seconds of silence before Kendall starts talking. His entire leg is pressed up against Stewy’s, like half of the backseat isn’t empty next to him. 

“Stewy. Stew.” 

“Yeah?” 

“You said — uh, you said ‘ _later’_ — and I — right now I really, like, need, it’s just sort of, um — it totally doesn’t need to be — but — I want — ” 

“What?” Stewy snaps, because his head hurts and he can’t follow Kendall’s babbling. 

“Just — _Stewy_.” Kendall puts his hand on Stewy’s forearm. His palm is so sweaty it slides easily against Stewy’s skin, which should be fucking disgusting but for some reason it’s sort of hot, and that in itself should make it obvious what a bad fucking idea this is.

Stewy doesn’t say anything. He leans forward to press the button to raise the divider between the front and back seats. It takes an excruciatingly long time, the low buzz of the motor like a jackhammer in his head. Kendall just stares at him, silent, hand still on Stewy’s arm, pupils blown impossibly large. 

Finally the divider reaches the top and Stewy closes the minuscule space between them. He kisses him and Kendall straddles his lap, and it feels just like it did before except Kendall tastes sickly sweet this time around, like — soda? candy? Stewy stupidly wonders where the fuck he found candy at that party before it dawns on him. 

“Fucking — dex, Kendall?” 

“Shdup, a little, maybe — not really — I said — told them, only a little — mixed it,” Kendall says, like that’s going to be reassuring. 

“Oh, you mixed it? You mixed it. Wow. Good. Innovative.” Stewy shakes his head. “You fucking low class bitch.” 

“It’s good,” Kendall says, kissing him, “I’m good.” 

Kendall’s stupid fucking cough-syrupy mouth is hot and wet Stewy wants to push his fingers into it, so he does. He shoves his pointer and middle fingers past his lips and Kendall seems perfectly happy to lick and suck on them like it’s his job — which, is, uh, something Stewy finds really very fucking interesting, actually. Eventually he pulls his hand away and there’s a line of saliva hanging between his fingers and Kendall’s mouth. 

“Gross,” he says, because it should be, but, once again, it’s somehow hot instead. Kendall grins and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand before kissing him. 

Then Kendall starts sliding down, sprawling out across the leather seats, his hands moving under Stewy’s shirt and over his jeans. His face is suddenly dangerously close to Stewy’s crotch. 

Stewy groans and tries to tug him back up. “Oh fuck — we’ll be there in like, two minutes.” 

“Don’care,” Kendall mumbles.

“Come on, can we just — fucking get home? Okay?” Kendall bends down to put his mouth where his hand just was, low on Stewy’s abdomen. “Fuck! God — stop, just — look — we’re here, we’re stopping.” 

Stewy has to literally pull him out of the car. He slings an arm around his shoulders in the hope that they can even out each other’s swaying. It works well enough. They make it to the building and he puts on his best approximation of sobriety to nod to the security guy. Then Kendall trips and almost face plants as they’re moving past the kitchen, which, fuck, maybe they need to slow down.

“You’re pretty fucked up, Ken. We should get you some water,” Stewy whispers as he tries to help Kendall up. 

“Stewy,” Kendall says, once he’s finally as right-side-up as he’s going to get. He pats Stewy on the chest with both hands before continuing, full volume, “Stew, I am — _begging —_ you, man, to just — please _—_ _please_ — just let me suck your fucking cock.” 

Stewy feels himself blush, not that it makes any difference in the dark. At least that was a coherent sentence. “Would you shut the fuck up? It’s fucking —” he realizes he has no idea what time it is, “Everyone’s sleeping.” 

Kendall loudly shushes him and then puts a hand over his own mouth, giggling. Somehow they manage to make it up the stairs in one piece and from there it’s just a few steps to Kendall’s bedroom. 

As soon as they cross the threshold, Kendall turns to kiss him and Stewy accidentally leans back against the door, making it swing shut with a bang. “God dammit,” Stewy whispers, listening for any movement in the hallway. He drops his head back against the door and Kendall kisses his throat. “We gotta be fucking quiet.” 

“’s — big house,” Kendall slurs. He’s pushing Stewy’s shirt up and Stewy pulls it the rest of the way over his head. He undoes the buttons on Kendall’s, too, because it’d probably take him a year to do them all in his current state, and pushes it off. 

“Yeah — okay,” he agrees. It’ll be Kendall’s fucking problem, anyway, if anyone hears them. 

Stewy lets himself be walked backward toward the bed, both of them stumbling on the way there. His head is still pounding — it feels like his brain is bumping around inside his skull. He sits down on the edge of the bed and Kendall stands between his legs. Stewy runs his hands down Kendall’s sides slowly, then grips his hips to hold him there. He just needs him to stay still for a few seconds, so he can catch his breath and stop the room from spinning. Kendall stares down at him with a goofy smile on his face. Stewy watches his chest rise and fall and silently counts to ten. 

He lets go of him and reaches to unbutton his jeans.They’re loose enough on Kendall’s waist that Stewy doesn’t even have to unzip them, he just hooks his fingers around his waistband and yanks down pants and boxers at once. Kendall kicks them off and drops to his knees. He hinders more than he helps Stewy wriggle out of his own jeans, but eventually everything is tossed somewhere to the side. 

And now Kendall’s just staring at Stewy’s dick like he’s waiting for it to do a trick. All that whining, for what? 

“So, any time is good, man.” 

“Fuck‘ff,” Kendall mumbles. He licks his hand and gives him a couple of tentative strokes. 

“Just watch the teeth,” Stewy says, because he’s an asshole. 

Kendall rolls his eyes and gives Stewy’s balls a light squeeze. Then he bends his head and tries to fit Stewy’s whole cock in his mouth right off the bat and immediately gags and starts coughing. 

“Oh my God,” Stewy falls back flat on the bed. He can’t stop laughing, which makes him an even bigger asshole, but, well, at least he’s self-aware. “Kenny’s first bj.” 

Kendall, eyes a little teary but otherwise fine, pinches his thigh. 

Stewy sits back up. “Ow, fuck, I didn’t sign up for that.” 

Kendall starts again, less ambitious this time, wrapping his fingers around the base of Stewy’s cock to make up for what his mouth can’t reach. 

Stewy goes quiet. He’s biting his lip, watching Kendall’s head bob up and down and listening to the slide of spit-slicked skin. 

Kendall pulls back. His mouth is bright red and shiny, the way it looked in the car. “Can you — talk? T’me? I want to hear.” 

“Yeah?” He feels like his voice is coming out of someone else’s body. “What should I say? That you feel good?” Kendall licks the length of his cock, so he must be satisfied with that answer. “Because you feel _fucking_ good, Ken. Oh my God.” Technically, Stewy’s had better blow jobs. But probably none this enthusiastic. Or while he was this drunk. Or from his best friend. 

Stewy gets both hands in Kendall’s hair. That’s one advantage to it being so long, a style choice Kendall thinks comes across as cool and laid back but Stewy thinks mostly says homeless. He sort of pets him for a minute, then cradles the back of his head, stroking his thumbs back and forth. 

“You really wanted this, huh? So fucking eager to drool on my dick.” 

Kendall hums around him. 

Stewy thrusts up into his mouth, just a little, mostly on accident but also sort of on purpose. Kendall brings a hand to his hip bone, pushing down and holding him firmly in place, but at the same time he moves to take his cock just that much deeper into his throat. Stewy feels rather than sees him gag — he’s beyond being able to keep his eyes open — but Kendall doesn’t stop this time. 

“Fuck,” Stewy groans. He can barely get the words out. “You like that — choking on it? Oh, fuck — Kendall, fuck.” He digs his fingers into Kendall’s scalp. 

Kendall pulls off and Stewy hears the wet sound of a gasp. Stewy’s going to ask if he’s getting off on this too, if he’s got a hand around his own cock right now or if he doesn’t even need that, but then his mouth is back on him, sucking at the head until Stewy’s thoughts and words lose any semblance of coherency, just jumbled up syllables that he may or may not be saying out loud. Kendall takes him back into his throat again, swallows around him, and Stewy covers his mouth and bites down on his palm. 

...

A few hours later, Stewy blinks awake. His headache has turned into a full blown hangover. Everything hurts — even his hand, for some reason — and the pain is distracting enough that for a moment he doesn’t know where he is. He turns his head to see pale, freckled skin next to him. Everything hits at once. Oh, shit. Kendall's back. Kendall’s bed. Kendall’s house. Kendall. _Shit._

His first instinct is to reach out and shake Kendall awake, but he stops short, hand hovering a few inches from his shoulder. Better to skip this altogether, he thinks. Spare them both the bullshit. He slips out of bed as quietly as he can and toes through the clothes littering the floor to find what he was wearing last night. Kendall rolls over onto his back as he’s pulling his jeans on and Stewy freezes. Getting caught sneaking out would be more embarrassing than fucking, like, eating breakfast together, after this. 

Kendall doesn’t wake up. Stewy checks the clock next to the bed — 10:09 am — oh, fuck, his parents have probably put out a fucking missing persons report. He’d almost be better off just staying here. But, no, nothing to do about it now. He checks for his wallet. It’s lying nearby on the floor. His hand stings as he picks it up — he looks down and first sees the smudged remnants of purple ink on the back of his hand, then the bruise and shallow cuts on his palm. He sighs at his own stupidity. He glances at the mirror and runs a hand through his hair, trying and failing to smooth it down. 

He pokes his head out into the hallway. Everything seems quiet. It’s a Thursday, right? So Logan, at least, must be out already. He breathes a sigh of relief and goes down the stairs.

Roman Roy is sitting at the kitchen counter eating a bowl of cereal. 

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Stewy’s so surprised he sort of shouts the question at him. 

Roman raises his eyebrows. “Uh, I live here, jerk.” 

“Sorry. I just — I didn’t know you were back. Good to see you, Ro-Ro. ” 

Roman grimaces at the nickname. “Uh huh.” 

“I gotta, uh, head out.” 

“Okay...? Where’s Ken?” 

“Uh, still asleep. Late night.” Stewy cringes inwardly and all but runs to the front door. He can’t get out of this house fast enough. 

“Goodbye to you, too!” Roman yells after him. 

...

Roman scoops up the marshmallows one by one with the spoon and sets them on his tongue until he has a mouth full of tiny, neon-colored sugar lumps. It seemed like a good idea at first, but now, as he’s chewing it, it’s pretty disgusting. He spits the whole mess back into the bowl and shoves it to the other end of the counter. Bleh. 

Kendall walks into the kitchen, rubbing his head. He looks like dog shit. Like, even worse than usual, Roman thinks. 

“Stewy just left.” 

“Yeah, Rome, I’m aware.” Kendall pulls a bottle of water out of the fridge and presses it against his forehead. HIs eyes are squeezed shut. 

“He said you were asleep.” 

“Well,” he gestures to himself, or maybe to everything, Roman can’t tell. “I woke up.” 

“He was weird. You get in a fight?” 

“No. We did not get into a fight.” 

“Are you hungover?” 

Kendall opens his eyes, and then opens the water and takes a drink. “No. I’m not. Can you stop asking questions for, like, a minute?” 

Roman pauses, thinking of something to say that’s not a question. “Shiv’s at tennis.” 

“Great.” 

“You really _seem_ hungover.” 

“Jesus. Fine. I’m hungover. Relax.” 

Roman narrows his eyes. “You’re being weird, too.” 

“Would you fucking drop it, Roman?” Kendall snaps. 

“Fuck you, I’m just saying!” 

Kendall rubs his face. “Sorry, it’s fine. I’m just tired. It was, uh, a late night. And don’t say fuck.”

Roman rolls his eyes and hops off his stool. “Whatever. Hope you and Stew kiss and make up soon. Or that you figure out how to make more than one friend. It’s really not that hard.”

Kendall slumps over the counter, suddenly laughing so hard it looks like he’s crying. “Yeah — maybe, Rome. Maybe I will.” 

“God.” Roman shakes his head. This is why he has a made up family he tells people at school about. The fake version of his brother is way cooler and nicer than this. “You’re being _so_ weird.”

  
  



End file.
